


Stolen Moments

by TangoSpotted (XylB)



Category: Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon
Genre: M/M, PWP, trans Holt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/TangoSpotted
Summary: “How d’you want it?”“Surprise me."





	Stolen Moments

“You again, huh?” Midas asks, a grin swaying in his voice.

“What a coincidence, I know,” Holt replies, leaning against the doorframe, cocky smirk cutting into his faded face paint.

“Something tells me it’s far from a coincidence,” Midas says, placing his gun down on the bed beside him. Holt just raises an eyebrow.

“Who’s on watch, then,” Midas continues, rubbing his chin.

“Tony. He owes me one.”

“Not often that Tony hands out favours.”

“He does for me,” Holt jokes, crossing his arms. “What can I say? It’s my irresistible charm.”

Midas chuckles at that, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear before he stands up, the old, dusty mattress creaking with the movement. Holt doesn’t move, just rakes his eyes lazily up and down Midas’s body. As much as Holt likes to mouth off, Midas appreciates that by now, they don’t need any words to communicate the urge, the  _want_ tugging at both of them, tight like a drawn bow between them.

Means he can saunter over as slowly as he likes, let his boots thud a little harder against the ground just to see Holt’s grin grow.

Holt still doesn’t move, not even when Midas is almost flush to him. Midas leans around to snag the door handle, bringing the door to with an abrupt click of the lock.

Then again, the words are _very_ nice to hear.

“How d’you want it?” Midas asks, low, gentle, dropping his voice to the rumble that makes Holt shiver under his touch. Holt seems to consider it for a moment, uncrossing his arms to hook his fingers through Midas’s beltloops. Midas’s eyes catch on the flex of his biceps.

“Surprise me,” Holt says, tugging on Midas’s combat khakis.

Well. If he wants it that way.

Midas hardly even hesitates before he bends – Holt catches on quick, and scrambles to put his arms over Midas’s shoulders just as Midas curls his fingers around Holt’s thighs and _lifts_ him up, pins him to the wall before his back can start protesting, and Holt’s breath punches out of him in one go, his smile even bigger than before.

“Didn’t know you still had it in you,” he teases, squeezing his legs around Midas’s hips. Midas grunts, squeezes his thighs in return.

“You oughta know better by now,” Midas says, and that’s when Holt threads a hand in the base of his ponytail to tug him in for their first proper kiss in _days_.

It feels just as familiar and comfortable as it always does, almost  _relaxing_ if it weren’t for the edge of arousal colouring it breathless, making Midas melt into more and more and more until he loses count, perfectly content to keep kissing Dom until morning.

Except, there’s a quite _persistent_ part of him telling him to move things along. And Dom isn’t helping, rutting his hips up against Midas’s crotch with the centimetre or so he can safely move.

It is, to say the least, incredibly distracting.

Midas pulls away from lips to nudge Dom’s chin up with his nose, continues his path of fervent kisses down Dom’s throat, his collarbone, readjusting his grip on his thighs to grind _back_. It earns him a quiet, choked moan and a slight tug on his hair that sends shivers down his spine.

“Christ,” Dom whispers, pressing his face to Midas’s neck, fingers tightening again in his hair as another shudder ripples through him. Midas recognises that shudder.

“It’s been that long, huh?” He teases, scraping his teeth over Dom’s neck to make him fidget, arms flexing where they’re draped over Midas’s shoulders.

“And whose fault is that?” Dom asks.

“You have a right hand,” Midas chuckles, rolling his hips up in a filthy, slow grind. Dom shudders rewardingly.

“So cruel,” Dom tries to accuse, but his voice breaks in the middle on a moan.

“Then do something about it,” Midas says. Dom doesn’t move except to shamelessly rock his hips up again, makes a small noise in the back of his throat that he _knows_ Midas loves.

“You play dirty,” Midas breathes, already shifting his weight to pin Dom harder to the wall, support him with one hand on his ass while the other runs up his thigh, tripping over fabric straps and button-snap pockets.

“Not as dirty as you,” Dom retorts, head thunking back against the wall when Midas’s fingers creep over his fly.

With a slightly harder scrape of his teeth and a laugh, Midas undoes Dom’s belt and button, drags down his zipper with no more finesse than they ever have, because he doesn’t need to _tease_ , now. Dom’s already closer than Midas thought he’d be.

Midas slips his fingers into Dom’s trousers with a pleased hum, dragging them carelessly over Dom’s cock over the briefs just to hear his stuttery inhale. The fabric’s already damp to the touch, almost soaked a little lower down, and Midas takes this information in with a groan and shudder of his own. He shifts to get his fingers in a better position, and bites down gently on Dom’s neck just to feel his dick twitch under his fingertips.

“Fuck,” Midas mutters.

“Stop teasing,” Dom pants. “Rubio, fuck, please – ”

Midas doesn’t fuck around, this time, rubs his fingers in a slow circle, deep grind, gets Dom choking on his own noise before he starts jerking him off properly, as quick as the position’ll let him in as good a circle his angle’ll let him.

Dom’s reaction is as breathtaking as always – hot, quiet little noises, his legs and arms and _everything_ twitching and flexing around Midas, tiny tugs on his hair, louder panting when Midas amps it up another notch, shifts to rub just a _bove_ Dom’s cock and make him _whine_ a little –

“Please,  _please_ , please,” Dom pants, pulling harder on Midas’s hair, soothing it with a stroke, alternating, fidgeting, his legs clamping to Midas’s sides, trying to close but unable to. Midas presses him harder to the wall to prevent him slipping down, speeds up to push Dom over that last little edge.

It’s a series of hitched little breaths – first small, then bigger, then a _gasp_ and a few more seconds and Dom comes with a rough moan of Midas’s name, burying his curses in Midas’s neck while he rides it out with shudders, jerking fitfully against Midas.

And usually, Midas would pull away after a few seconds, but Dom doesn’t  _stop_ fidgeting, not when he usually does, and Midas swears against his skin as he jacks Dom off faster, trying to balance the pace with sensitivity and grinning triumphantly when he manages to trip Dom over into a second orgasm, this one much twitchier and much whinier than the first, his noises skewed high and his knuckles cracking with how hard he clenches Midas’s hair.

“Ngh fuck, _fuck_ ,” Dom spits, and his next shake is almost _violent_ , and that’s when Midas slows down, eases up, gentle circles to help Dom come back down. He pairs it with peppered kisses over Dom’s neck, over the little hickeys he left, both over _whelmed_ with arousal and focusing on Dom.

“You want me to stop?” Midas murmurs a slow minute later, his circles reduced to almost nothing. He’s throbbing in his own underwear.

“Yeah, please,” Dom pants, nudging Midas’s chin up with his jaw to kiss him, lazy but still heated. “How do you want – ”

“’M already close,” Midas answers before Dom can even finish the question, pulling his hand out of Dom’s trousers to hold his thigh again.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Dom asks breathlessly, biting Midas’s lip and rolling his hips forward in invitation.

Midas takes it, squeezes Dom’s thighs and tugs him closer and grinds almost _desperately_ against him. Just the feel of _that_ , combined with the high of getting Dom off – _twice_ – fuels him enough to get him close within _minutes_ , trembling slightly against Dom and muffling noises into his mouth as his thrusts become greedy, become frantic, working himself up until his knees suddenly go weak and he locks up with his orgasm, moaning Dom’s name back into his mouth and holding so tight his knuckles go white while he ruins his underwear, hips jerking with each shudder.

“Fuck,” Dom whispers, and Midas whimpers, a little, against the corner of his mouth, rutting desperately until he’s far too oversensitive, flinching a little at the pressure.

He pulls his hips back just enough to separate, and lowers Dom’s legs to let him stand again – immediately, Dom drags him back against the wall, hooking an arm around his neck and kissing him like a desperate man.

“Mm – _mm_ – bed,” Midas mumbles between kisses, threading a hand through Dom’s hair.

“My legs don’t work enough for that yet,” Dom replies, laughing when Midas shakes his head.

“You can rest them there,” he promises, goes back for another kiss even so.

“Oh we both know I won’t be _resting_ if you’re there,” Dom teases, but he lets Midas tug him gently away anyway. 


End file.
